


If The Heart Is A House

by ThereWillBeCubes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Yandere, blood warning, knife warning, shance, yandere shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8031523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWillBeCubes/pseuds/ThereWillBeCubes
Summary: I have a bloodstained lawn.-Shiro can't rest until Lance is his.





	If The Heart Is A House

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in an au, rather than galaxy garrison, it's just university. doesn't have huge bearing on the fic but yeah, not set in the canon timeline. 
> 
> TW for blood and knives/cuts

-

It’s raining heavily by the time he gets home, large droplets rattling off the roof and the leaves, and Shiro smiles. Lance loved the sound of the rain outside their room, and as he walks through the darkened house, it’s drumming wonderfully above his head, soothing.

Lance is in their room, tucked under the covers, arms tied to the headboard. Shiro sits beside him, kicking off his shoes and leaning over Lance’s face to see his eyes half open.

“I thought you’d be sleeping,” Shiro murmurs, kissing his cheek. It tastes slickly of salt, and with his thumb, Shiro swipes under Lance’s other eye. Wet.

“Did you miss me?” he asks lowly, turning Lance so that they’re facing one another. Lance’s eyes are lidded against the light, gleaming with tears. His face twitches and trembles under Shiro’s fingers as he skates them down it, coming to rest near his mouth.

“Do you want me to take this off?” Shiro asks, picking at the wide strip of tape over Lance’s lips. Lance shivers, and slowly nods.

“Okay,” Shiro says, peeling it off, and as Lance gasps and stretches his jaw, he dives in, tongue laving over Lance’s dried lips, pushing into his warm mouth. Their teeth clack against each other in his haste, and he adjusts, not separating from Lance’s mouth. Not yet. He’d been thinking about it all day.

“Sh-Sh-Shiro-” Lance gasps, voice cracking and dry, “please-”

“Thirsty?” Shiro asks, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Lance says, and Shiro gives one last kiss before fetching a water bottle.

He doesn’t untie Lance, but loosens his ropes so he can be propped up, cradled in Shiro’s arms. He puts the bottle to Lance’s lip, and he drains it entirely.

“You hungry?” he asks, stroking Lance’s forehead, “I have some leftovers I can heat up.”

“Can you… untie me? So I can eat?”

Shiro kisses away a few stray droplets on Lance’s chin.

“No, love.”

“I don’t want to be fed,” Lance replies, irritation creeping into his tone, “it’s… humiliating. One hand?”

Shiro wants to say yes. He wants to trust Lance; but his gut is telling him _no, don’t, not yet._

“No.”

“Then I don’t want anything,” Lance mutters, face tight with discontent. Shiro leans over him, kissing at his jaw.

“You need to eat, Lance,” he murmurs, but Lance doesn’t even meet his eyes, staring at the floor, brows pulled down.

“Untie my hand and I will,” Lance says, pulling his face away, “please, Shiro.”

He’s staring out the window; watching the rain patter it, and his eyes flutter closed. Shiro strips off his shirt and pants, and slips under the covers to take Lance in his arms.

“You’re tired,” Shiro says softly, hand running over Lance’s smooth skin, “we can sleep instead.”

Lance doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes closed. Shiro knows he’s still angry; his lips twitch and he’s nibbling at them. Shiro runs a thumb over them.

“I love you, Lance.”

Lance frowns further. Shiro waits for him to reply, to tell him what he wants, needs to hear, but his blood grows cold as Lance says nothing.

“L-Lance?”

He just had to say it.

Shiro waits, and waits, but soon enough, Lance has slipped into sleep.

Shiro holds him close, trying to warm his blood again, feeling Lance’s slow pulse in his neck.

“No, no,” Shiro mutters, squeezing, before kicking off the covers. Beside him, his love is shifting and murmuring in his sleep, eyelids fluttering.

His heartbeat quickens, and Shiro is seized with the need for action; he can’t lose Lance, he can’t lose this.

“Lance, Lance? My love, can you hear me?” he croons, nipping and licking at his long, smooth neck, “wake up, wake up.”

“Sh-Shiro?” Lance says drowsily, before he jerks awake as Shiro sinks in his teeth, deep into where neck met shoulder.

“Shiro-!”

“You didn’t say it,” Shiro growls into his skin, “why didn’t you?”

Lance shivers in the cold, eyes averted, “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

He yells as Shiro bites again, a different place, into his neck, and Shiro delights in the jumping of his breath in his throat.

“Don’t lie to me, why are you _lying_ to me, Lance?”

He can’t seem to draw blood. Not with his teeth.

Lance is quiet, tense, as Shiro gets off the bed, searching the top of the dresser, and his face pales as Shiro picks up just what he needs; his knife.

All Shiro wanted, was for Lance to stay true, always, to their bond. To never, ever leave him. Why would he want to? They didn’t need anyone else. But Lance surrounded himself with people, whenever Shiro looked away, even for a minute. He couldn’t lose him, not Lance, not his love. His blood burns with conviction, with affection that made him weak at the knees.

He stops, drinking in the sight of Lance on their bed, in their house. God, he was _perfect._

“No, no, don’t,” Lance begs, muscles tensing and rippling deliciously as he twists and turns, and Shiro’s tongue darts to wet his lips.

“Hey, hey,” he purrs, holding Lance down by the shoulders, taking care with the switchblade so that it didn’t cut Lance’s face. Lance’s chest jumps with his quick, panicked breaths as he brings the blade to lie flat against his left pectoral.

Shiro leans over, silencing Lance’s gasping with a kiss, pressing deeply, enough to slow his breath. It’s slower when he breaks them apart, and he laps a long, hungry line along Lance’s jaw, teeth nipping at his earlobe.

“Shiro,” Lance croaks, arms shifting, shaking.

“I can never get enough of you,” Shiro grounds out, voice husky and heavy, “God, Lance.”

He sits up, moving to straddle Lance’s waist. He’s so warm, and Shiro can feel his heartbeat leaping, in excitement? In fear?

Either way, it was just the two of them. Everything Lance was feeling, every breath and word, they were sharing it. This was their space. No one else’s. The way Lance was looking at him now, wide-eyed, anxious blue; that was all for him.

He lifts the blade, watching it catch in the light.

“Shiro, w-what are you-?”

Lance’s breath hitches as Shiro leans down, pressing his lips to his warm skin.

“You already have my heart, you know that?” Shiro whispers, cupping Lance’s face, “I want yours.”

Lance bursts into movement, writhing around, pulling at his restraints.

“No- no, don’t, don’t kill me, please, Shiro,” Lance cries, “please-”

“No, Lance, why would I want that?” Shiro murmurs, tracing lines with the tip of the knife, “I want- to know- that you’re mine.”

“I am,” Lance replies, “I’m yours, Shiro.”

How he wanted to believe that, it was all he wanted.

“You run away from me,” Shiro says quietly, sadly, “you share yourself so carelessly.”

“They’re friends, Shiro, friends-”

“Why do you need them? Am I not enough for you?”

He tries to steady himself against the doubts, clawing their way out of his heart, shredding it from the inside out. They’re hot, and he shakes with the force of them, vision swimming, and all he can see is Lance’s face and the darkness around them- shrouding them. His breathing becomes ragged, harsh, as he grips onto Lance, so he doesn’t slip away with his heart. So he doesn’t leave him all alone.

Lance’s eyes are wide and frightened. For who? Of what? Why didn’t he ever tell him?

“Lance- Lance,” Shiro pants, hands roving over his skin and grinding into his hard, warm body, making sure it’s still there and still real, “what do I- I- have to do? How can I be enough?”

“Sh-Shiro-”

Shiro presses his hands, his body weight, down onto Lance, “what do they have? What do they have that I don’t, Lance?”

Lance doesn’t answer, his face spasming with despair and terror, tears flowing down his face.

“What is it?!” Shiro snarls, “why do you love them? Why do you love them _more_ than me?!”

The creatures in his heart roared with him, setting his blood alight, was it their eyes? Was it their voices? Was it the hands that touched him or the lips that smiled at him?

Lance lets out a sharp scream as Shiro carves the first line into his heaving chest; it’s deeper than he intended, but smooth, neat.

“No! No! Please!” Lance begs, twisting and sobbing, but Shiro simply growls.

“You don’t want to give it to me, do you?” Shiro replied harshly, watching Lance’s blood seeping down his chest, “do you?”

“That’s not-”

_“Liar!”_

Two more lines, and blood rushes out, driven by the heart that Lance was hiding from him, keeping from him.

“Who is it?” Shiro breathes, gripping Lance’s tear-slicked face, “tell me.”

“No-one,” Lance whispers, voice breaking, “it’s no-one, Shiro, I swear-!”

As he’s marking the next line, Lance’s body jerks away, and the blade plunges deeper than Shiro intended, and scores along the muscle, Lance howling with pain.

“Tell, tell me, so I can cut _their_ fucking heart out!”

“Shiro! Stop! Please!”

He doesn’t, he can’t, not until it’s done. Not until his name is carved into Lance’s chest, over his strong, leaping heart.

Shiro sits up to look at his handiwork; it’s running blood down Lance’s side, staining the sheets red. Shiro wants to taste it all. Every beat of Lance’s heart.

Lance’s breath jumps as Shiro’s tongue laves over cuts, and he makes soft sounds of pain, sobs.

“Lance, Lance,” Shiro breathes, savouring the warmth, the bite, “I love- love you…”

Lance’s face is tear-streaked when he finally raises his head, staring blankly down, and Shiro leans over to give him a gentle kiss, sharing the blood on his lips.

“Do you love me?” Shiro whispers.

Lance’s eyes are dulled with exhaustion, lidded over, and tears still run from the corners.

“... yes, Shiro.”

“Only me?”

“Y-yes, Shiro.”

He kisses Lance all over, his beautiful lips, cheeks, his soft eyelashes, his jaw and neck, and finally, his chest. He unties Lance’s hands, and kisses them too.

“I love you, Lance.”

“I love you too, Shiro.”

-

**Author's Note:**

> yanderayy.tumblr.com
> 
> thanks for reading, comments/kudos really appreciated if you enjoyed.


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